Continuing to release the bread crumbs of singles that will result in her eventual second album, Cardi B’s latest, “Press,” is, for once, a declaration of not needing–or wanting (yeah, right)–any further publicity. Warning the bloodthirsty media that she’s “done with the talkin’, I’m open to violence/Ask anybody, they know I’m about it,” Cardi’s more protective side has likely been invoked by having a daughter, illustriously named, er, Kulture. Who crops up quite frequently in lyrics now, including, “a new crib for my daughter/You know a bad bitch gon’ spoil her” (in this sense, Nicki Minaj will probably always be “badder” by sheer virtue of childlessness). Or maybe she simply reached the end of her “Cardier” diamond-encrusted rope when her propensity for “date rape” in her pre-fame days came to light anew.
Whatever the trigger for Cardi to declare, “Press, press, press, press, press/Cardi don’t need more press/Kill ’em all, put them hoes to rest,” it’s evident she’s in that phase of her career where the novelty of being constantly talked about has worn off. It happened to Britney with “Piece of Me” and Lindsay with “Rumors” and it will only continue to appear as a motif on songs so long as the paparazzi can continue to leech off the blood of other people’s fame. And speaking of blood, Cardi persists with an aura of murderous rage as she raps, “Walk in, bulletproof vest/Please tell me who she gon’ check?/Murder scene, Cardi made a mess/Pop up, guess who, bitch?”
As a somewhat unofficial “sequel,” at least by thematic standards, to her collaboration with Offset on “Clout,” Cardi more than infers throughout the song that the media obsession with her every move stems from the jealousy of others who want nothing more than to knock her from her pedestal, and in that swift move, take her clout away as well. For in the present era of even more easily disposable celebrities, a singer or rapper’s period of time in relative peace from the threat of being smeared by the endless barrage of gossip and hearsay on all platforms is increasingly minimal. And Cardi’s lasted all of about three seconds after the ascension “Bodak Yellow” to the top of the charts.
In comparison to another one of her latest singles releases, the unfortunate “Please Me” (even more unfortunately, once again, pairing her with Bruno Mars after “Finesse“), Cardi proves she’s at her best when she doesn’t attempt to be “warm and fuzzy,” so to speak. Name checking fast becoming just as much of her signature as Nicki Minaj’s for the sake of the rhyme, she displays her specific brand of, um, hardness by noting, “Ridin’ that dick like I’m Cardi Andretti.” It’s certainly not as wholesome as the time Gwen Stefani referenced Mario Andretti on “Crash” to say, “I wander ’round the room and I’m getting things ready/I picture you driving just like Mario Andretti.” On a side note, do any of these singers even like car racing that much? And if they do, is there no other driver to name?
Sustaining her Tourette’s-like lyrical structure in discussing her wealth and her sex life with some other au courant subject matter (like press) in between, “Press” clocks in at just under two minutes and thirty seconds. That’s all we usually need to get the point behind Cardi’s typically terse message.
